To break a Musketeer
by Vivien99
Summary: In order to get some valuable information, the Musketeers are captured. How far will the attackers go to get what they want and will they manage to break at least one of them? Mostly whump for all of them, like who could resist? - abandoned -
1. Chapter 1

**I just couldn't resist this idea as it came to my mind last night.**  
 **I wrote the first chapter on my way to work in the train on my mobile phone, so please excuse mistakes - I will correct them later!**

 **Looking forward to your reviews, they always mean a lot to me!  
And I know I should be working on my other works, but I just had to do this... I regret nothing.**

 **I don't own anything. Unfortunately.**

His eyes fluttered open, seeing nothing but darkness and the flickering of a torch on the other side of the room at first. Slowly his eyes adjusted and he recognized more of the place he had woken up in. A cell to be more precisely. There was just one small window in the high walls, not spending enough light for the quite big room, but at least giving him some kind of hint what time of day it could be. It had to be in the early morning, Athos guessed.

He had regained his senses by now fully again, remembering the ambush in the night as they had camped outside. He had been hit against the Head, hard enough to force his body into uncosciousness.

Then, one quite important detail came to his mind. "Aramis?" Athos asked into the dark corners of the room, as he noticed a slumped figure to his left. The swordsman tried to reach out for his friend but his hand was soon restrained by the chains around his wrists, which didn't allow him to stretch his arm out to his Full length.

"I see you finally woke up." The marksman answered, way to light hearted for Athos liking. On the other hand this wasn't the first time they had been captured and won't be the last. Athos just thanked god that they had given the precious letter to another group of musketeers they had net on the way, as their own horses were already tired and slow.

"The others?" Athos glanced into the distance of the room, which didn't allow him to recognize anything different than darkness.

"Here." Porthos rustled with his chains, followed by silence. "D'Artagnan?" Aramis asked, worry in his voice as the gascon didn't answer. "Can't see him." Porthos muttered just as concerned.

As if they had just waited for the musketeers to awake, the tell telling sound of keys rustling echoed through the cell. The soldiers tensed up, more curious than scared of who would enter. The door opened with a squek and a tumbling figure was pushed inside, falling to the ground after the unsuccesfull try to stay on his feet. D'Artagnan groaned in pain as he sat up, taking in the scene in front of him. "Nice to meet you again." He forced a smile onto his bloody lips, before a tall man entered. He didn't say anything as he dragged the Musketeers through the cell and checkled him to the wall just as the others. D'Artagnan's protests were far too weak for the usually strong man, concerning the oder musketeers immediatly. "Are you hurt?" Athos asked, trying to see the extand of the lads injuries.

"Just bruised." He answered, leaning his head against the cold wall exhausted.

"They want the letter." D'Artagnan added after a while, confirming what Athos had already guessed.

"So what's the plan?" Aramis asked into the direction of their unofficial leader. Athos sighed as he assessed the situation. There was no way they could get free from the chains without help. "Waiting and saying nothing, I guess. Treville will soon notice that we're late and send someone to search for us. They will find us sooner or later. Till then we need to hold out, make them think that we know something. As long as they believe that we have some kind of information, they won't kill us." Athos hoped that his words would turn out true and wondered who "they" might be.

"Don't worry, a few beatings won't break a musketeer." Porthos said, confident that they would get out of this mostly unharmed - they always did.

MMMMMMMM

The sun is standing high, as the door to their cell opened again and the man from earlier entered again, heading straight towards Porthos. The others glanced at their brother with worry, as he sat up straighter. To everyones suprise he wasn't beaten or dragged away, but a waterskin was held to his lips. Porthos first refused but the man grabbed his chin tightly and forced the water into him, causing the big man to caugh.

"You should be thankful." The man muttered as he put the skin away. "Oh I will show you how thankful I am when I get these chains of." The stranger huffed at the comment grabbed into a basket which stood by the wall. "Last chance for you to speak. What stood in the letter?"

"Go to hell."

Porthos struggled against the chains as a rag was pushed in his mouth. Another one was put over his eyes, before some kind of wooden plug was pushed into his ears. The big man muffled something against his gag what could be nothing other than some obscene insult.

The man then walked over to D'Artagnan, also offering him some water. Thirsty as he was, the lad drank it without an protest. Athos did the same, as there was no reason to die of thirst. They need to stay as strong as possible. Feeling the scratch in his dry throat Aramis was thankful as the man walked over to him. Unfortunately he spilled the last of the water onto the ground grinning, leaving the musketeer thirsty.

After the stranger had left the cell again, Aramis dared to call out for his friend but as feared Porthos couldn't hear him. "What's this about?" D'Artagnan asked as he eyed his brother with concern.

"Isolation is a kind of torture." Athos frowned, not pleased in which direction all of this went.

The Musketeers sat in silence most of the time, each one lost in their own thoughts. Athos couldn't stop to try to find a way out of this but he always came to the same solutions. Either they are saved by the regiment or they can escape when at least one of them is free from his chains for some reason. Or, and he really didn't like this solution, these strangers will kill them when they notice that they don't carry any kind of important information.

With time passing, Porthos started to feelings more and more uncomfortable. Being chained up was one thing - that he could handle. But not being able to use the there most important of his senses made him feelings uneady. He didn't know what happened to the others, if something happened. He sighed against the cloth in his mouth, feeling thirsty eventhough he just had some water. He just wished to hear or see something. But his wish was denied as he had to stay in darkness and loneliness for what felt an eternity.

Porthos didn't notice as the man from earlier walked back in and straight towards their youngest. Their was no words or time to react before the first kick hit the Gascon in the stomach, causing him to draw his legs up in order to protect himself. "What stood in the letter?" The man kicks again, hitting D'Artagnan against his shoulder.

"Leave him alone!" "You little Bastard, are you too scared to fight fair?!" Athos and Aramis shouts echoed through the cell, their chains rustled as they both tried to reach the two men on the other side of the room. Porthos just heard some muffled sounds and guessed that there had to be some kind of fight, he tensed up immediatly, ready to react if needed.

"Shut up or you end up like the other one." Now it was a fist which met with D'Artagnan's jaw, forcing his head to fly back against the wall. He couldn't hold back a groan as more punches hit him, causing his nose to bleed and head to throb.

"You can beat me to death... if you like... I won't tell you. .. anything." His voice was rough between ragged breaths as he showed a bloody smile towards his attacker.

"Oh you will. One of you will break sooner or later." The man grinned at them before he once again left them alone.

"How bad is it?" Aramis asked, his voice Full of concern. He tried to ignore the threat and didn't allow himself to think about what else could and will be done to his brothers im the next days. Even if Athos was right and Treville would send help, it wouldn't arrive before the next week - if not later.

"Headache and few scratches, but nothing sevre." The marksman wanted to see the real extend of the wounds himself, but for now the words of his brother had to be enough.

MMMMMMMM

Night came and went before their tormentor came back with a tray full of food and water. He first gave the two swordsmen something to Drink and some dried bread before he headed over to Porthos. He only freed him from his rag for enough time to take a few sips and bites, before it was secured back.

Aramis was denied any kind of water or food again. "Here have some of mine." Athos broke his bread in two halfs and threw it towards the marksman. The bread hit the floor a few meters in front of Aramis and no matter how far he stretched, he couldn't reach it. He gave up sighing. "Thank you for trying mon ami, but I guess it's just not supposed to be."

D'Artagnan felt bad as he ate his own food, but he was even more far away from the marksman than Athos. Aramis smiled at him reassuring. "Don't you worry about me, whelp. I've gone through much worse." Painful memories started to rise back to the surface as he spoke.

He had live through three days, drinking the snow his brothers had died in and eating the raw flesh of a raven which had tried to pick at Aramis, after the animal had already eaten from another dead musketeer. Aramis would rather starve than to having to do this ever again.

AntwortenWeiterleiten


	2. Chapter 2

Athos tried desperatly to keep track of the time, anything to stay sane. Usually when they were held hostage it wasn't even that bad. Their captors were most likely some depserate farmers or other uneducated simple men. Normally Aramis and Porthos would use the time to talk about anything and nothing. D'Artagnan would complain how much he missen his bed and Constance and Athos would just watch over them and wait for an oppurtunity to escape. This time he feared he would have to wait long. This time was different in many ways. It was quite. Aramis didn't talk about one of his many affairs. Instead he kept to himself. If it was because of Porthos unfortunate situation or because of the water and food he was refused, Athos didn't know.

Moreover this man or men - they still didn't know who wanted the information - seemed more capable as most before them. They seemed to know what they had to do in order to break a man - but would they be able to break a musketeer?

According to the glimpses of sun he saw, the swordsman guessed that about two days went by. D'Artagnan had been beaten s second time, leaving his left eye swollen and his ribs bruised. He was too exhausted to complain. Porthos had stopped trying to get free or somehow communicate with his brothers, it was useless after all.

As the door was opened again, Athos stomach twisted - scared of what the man would do this time. He again brought food and water, giving it to Athos and D'Artagnan before he freed Porthos not only from the gag but from the blindfold and stups too. The big man blinked a few times in order to clear his view, and took in the surroundings around him – relieved to see his brothers still with him. He didn't get a chance to speak before some water was forced into him.

„Do you want to talk now?" Their captor asked, well knowing that Porthos was still far from breaking. He was exhausted, yes. He was confused, yes. But he still was intact and sane enough to not let something slip.

„I can't say I'm dissapointed. It would be so boring without some entertainment."

A cruel smile formed on the mans lips, making Porthos shudder. There was this strange sparkle in the mans eyes – controlled, but on the edge to insanity.

„Who are you?" Porthos asked and sat up straighter.

„Oh sorry, but I fear that's none of your interest. But I want to give you a name you can beg to be freed from your misery. Lamage, call me Lamage."

Lamage turned his back to Porthos and was on his way tot he door as Athos called out his name.

„Wait. He needs something to drink and eat too." The swordsman indicated towards Aramis, who sat slumped against the wall, half sleeping and way to exhausted to care what's going on around him. Lamace watched him for a few seconds before he shrugged and walked towards the marksman, slapping his cheek to get his attention. „I've heard that no man has lived more than three days without water, but some managed to survive over two weeks without food. Interesting, isn't it?"

No one answered as Lamage took out the waterskin and kneeled in front of Aramis, who seemed instantly more awake as he saw the water. He didn't hesistate as the skin was pressed to his lips and gulped down as much as possible – which he regretted instantly. After a few sips he noticed the bitter taste and started to cough out the precious liquid. Lamage grinned but didn't took back the skin. „It won't kill you, promise. I still need you alive. But you should drin kit or else you will die because of thirst." Aramis looked at him sceptically before his gaze fell onto his brothers, who watched him with concern. Athos didn't like what was going on, but there was nothing he could have done. The only thing he could do was tot o rely on his judgement of character and hope that he didn't chose the wrong decision. „Drink Aramis, it's been over two days."

The marksman gulped, as he knew too well what bitter taste soften meant – poison. „What's in it?" His voice was rough and he couldn't hold back a cough. „You will see soon enough. Now drink or die."

He had no other choice. Aramis took the skin and drank enough to wet his throat and feel a little bit healthier than before. Lamage grinned satisifed before he once again left them.

The medic noticed the worried eyes of his brothers on him so he lifted his hands reassuring. „I'm fine – really."

„Say if something changes." Porthos frowned, taking in every move of his friend. Aramis seemed okay – now.

„Did I miss something?" The big man then tried to change a subject and build a conversation – he still felt kind of isolated. The feeling of loneliness still lingered in his heart and threw him emotionally back tot he days he lived in the Court of Miracles. There, he had always been alone before he met Charon and Flea. Porthos had never been someone who like to be to his own, he always needed someone around him,, someone to talkt o or just someone who sat by his side. He just wanted to know that there was someone. That they hadn't left.

„Not really." D'Artagnan mumbled and tried to find a new position to sit, but this only caused him to wince at the pain that spread through his ribs. „Carefull mon ami. You said you're not sure if they are bruised or broken and if a rib is broken it can pierce –"

„My lungs and I die. I know that too damn well Aramis. No need to remind me." The Gascon hissed and held his hand onto the blue spot on his torso.

„I wish I could take a look at it." D'Artagnan threw him an apologetic look, knowing that Aramis was just concerned at that it was hard for him not tob e able to help his brothers. „I'm fine, Mis. It may hurt but I'm almost sure that they're only bruised."  
Aramis smiled weakly and scratched at his skin absently.

As silence once again hung over the cell, the sound of scratching grew louder and as Aramis hissed, he had the full attention of his brothers. „What is it?" Athos asked while he tried to make out what his friends problem was.

„Nothing. It just… burns." Aramis winced again and tried to stop the scratching at his arms as it started to increase the bruning sensation on his skin.

Just a few seconds felt like an eternity and he digged his fingernails into his wrist hard.

The others confusion changed to concern as the marksman pulled at his hair, searching desperatly for some kind of distraction oft he burning pain, that increased with each minute. It had been only ten minutes since the scratching began but it was already unearable fort he medic as he pulled at his hair harder.

„Make it stop." Aramis whimpered and scratched again, just to flinch instantly at the pain that it caused.

„Just – Just try tot hink about something else. Uhm… remember – I don't know anything." Porthos sighed and looked at Athos and d'Artagnan in search for some kind of help. But none of them knew what to do, never had experienced something like this before.

Aramis breath fastened as he clenched his eyes shut, desperate to control himself, to not show how much he suffers – but this kind of pain, as if a flame would burn his skin, was something he couldn't handle. Bulletwounds, he knew. Stabwounds he could handle. Fever he could endure. But this – this was so different from everything he had ever experienced before.


	3. Chapter 3

Athos guessed that it had been about two hours before Aramis' desperate pleas changed into prayers. The marksman talked himself into some kind of trance, switiching from french to spanish and to latin, his fingers gripping tightly into the cloth of his breeches. They had tried to talk to him, but it had been useless as the pain had overwhelmed every other sense. It was reassuring as the prayers stopped and the man fell into a deep sleep.

Porthos growled as he watched his brother rest, tucking at the chains around his wrists. „The moment I get free I kill this bastard."

„If we ever get free." D'Artagnan earned some strict looks from his brothers, as no one even dared to think about this kind of ending. They had to survive, they had to get free. „No one will die here." Athos explained calmly, and he hoped so much that his words will turn out true.

„Do you really think Treville will find us in time? They surely haven't even noticed yet that we're lost. It can be days or weeks till they find us and you really think that Lamage will have so much patience with us?" Porthos and Athos had to agree in silence that the boy could be right, but none of them would have spoken this out. Hope was the only thing that would keep them strong and alive. Death was no solution.

D'Artagnan didn't even need to speak out his next thought, that were also the possibility than one oft hem would eventually break. This would mean certain death for all of them, that he was certain of. „You should stop these kind of thoughts." And Athos really meant this as and kindly advice. In his years in the service of the king there had been many times he or his brothers had been captured, tortured and negotiated. There had been a few times he had thought that it would be the last time, that he would never return home. But he never allowed himself to acknowledge the certainity of death, because giving up meant loosing. Surely Athos had never been someone who cared much about his own life, but he cared oft he ones of his brothers. And eventhough he still couldn't understand why, he knew that he was just as important to them as they to him. And he never allowed himself to die, because he knew how much pain that would have meant for his brothers. So each time he had been beaten and locked up in a cellar, he had forced himself to stay alive, to keep his faith into the musketeers. And each time he had survived.

„It's just…" D'Artagnan sighed as he watched the marksman tossing in his sleep.

„He's strong, he will make it. Whatever this poison is, it will leave his body sometime and he will be himself in no time." Porthos understood how the lad felt, but just as Athos he had enough faith into his brothers and Treville that everthing would be fine in the end. It always was somehow.

Lamage came back a few hours later. Aramis was still fast asleep and didn't stirr as the door fell closed with a thud. But the marksman was not of interest for Lamage now, as the man strode towards d'Artagnan.

He grabbed the chain that connected his wrists and dragged d'Artagnan to his feet. „Do you really think you can impress me with your lady-like punches?" The Gascon grinned as his wrists were attached to a hook in the ceiling, forcing him to stand on his tiptoes.

Lamage laughed, heartless and without any joy in it before he hit the boy in his already brusied ribs. Porthos winced in sympathy as he had to watch how his brother was once again beaten. But he saw in the boys eyes the strength he had, that he still was far away from breaking. D'Artagnan didn't allow to let any cries of pain slip as his body was assaulted again and again. Every now and then he couldn't hold back a quiet whimper, but never more. Lamage seemed to get frustrated, as he stroked him four times especially hard into the face. D'Artagnan's nose had started bleeding long ago again, blood trickled down is lip and from a gash over his right eye. By now, his vision was blurry, his eye almost swollen shut and green and blue brusies started to form on his jaw.

„That's enough!" Athos growled and tucked at his chains as the boy's head fell to his chest ihn exhaustion. Lamage turned around surprised but soon a look of amusement formed on his face. „You want me to stop?"

Athos clenched his jaw, knowing too well what Lamage was insisting. „Just tell me what stood in the letter." The swordsman searched for d'Artagnan's eyes, but the boy kept staring at the floor, all his concentration was spent on staying awake.

„I can't do that. Still there is no reason to beat the boy to death. He is worth more alive."

„And what do you suggest what else I should do?" Lamage walked over to Athos, and the swordsman already prepared fort he first punch – but it never came. „Oh no, I won't hurt you. Not like this."

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Aramis desperate shouts filled the cell, while d'Artagnan tried to get his chains oft he hook – stumbling against the wall every now and then. The boy's insults and the marksman's screams weren't heard. Athos stayed silent and watched. He didn't allow himself to look away. His heart burned and his chest was so tight that there was no space for air in it. But he had looked through Lamage. He knew that this was Lamage's kind of torture for him and he didn't allow himself to break so easily. Eventhough if it meant having to watch his brothers being tortured instead. He would never forgive himself for that, but giving it would mean their certain death. So he stayed silent.

Porthos felt kicked and punched, hitting nothing but air. He tried to hold his breath but soon his body longed for air, his mouth opened. His lungs felt with water, making him fight even harder. The moment dark spots danced infront of his eyes and his arms felt numb, he was pulled out of the bucket of water. Porthos breathed in deeply, but first the water needed to leave his lungs. He caughed out the dangerous liquid before tanking fast breaths. The racing of his heart hadn't stopped as he felt the hand on the back of his head. Again he was surrounded by water, already exhausted it didn't take long for him to breath in the water. But this time Lamage waited longer. Porthos went limb, drifting oft o unconsciuosness before he was pulled out oft he bucket.

Lamage through him to the ground carelessy. As he kicked the big man and there was no response, Lamage shrugge and left again.

„Porthos! Porthos!" Aramis tucked against his chains until blood run down his wrists but there was no way to reach his unconscious brother. „He's alive."Athos announced who was able to see the slight twitiching oft he man's fingers.

Just a few seconds later Porthos awoke with a gasp and turned onto his side to caugh out the water that had filled his lungs. With ragged breaths he lay down again, trying to calm down somehow. „Porthos?" Aramis asked worried, not being able to see after his brother drove him insane.

„'m fine." The big man muttered as he still tried to catch his breath.


	4. Chapter 4

Athos had lost track of time. Lamage came in in different intervals, sometimes bringing something to eat and drink, sometimes to beat d'Artagnan into unconsciousness.

The boy was nothing more than a mess of bruises and cuts, his eyes nealy swollen shut, his breath shallow as he tried to take air into his lungs without hurting his ribs. D'artagnan sat hunched in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest, his head resting against the cold wall. It was hard to tell if he was sleeping, unconscious or awake – it made no difference. Each time Lamage hurt him, his brothers protested. But is was useless. They just exhausted themselves and caused their wrists and ankles to bleed where the iron cut into them.

Athos was the only one who stayed silent, watching the horrifying treatment of his brother with shame and guilt in his eyes. He didn't dare to look away once. But he didn't allow himself to break – his brohters didn't too and they were much worse than him. Still, he wished to relieve them from their pains and knowing that he could end all of this, made him stomach twists. On the other, he knew that talking would mean certain death for all of them. Athos was helpless. He couldn't save them.

His eyes darted over to Porthos, who's hands were attached to a hook in the ceiling. A Heretic's fork had been placed around his neck. The sharp ends on both side of it, pushed slightly into the sensible skin of hi schest and throat – forcing him to keep his head upright fort he whole time. This develish thing had been put on him a few hours ago, maybe a day, and made it impossible for the exhausted man to rest if he didn't want to impale himself. His tiptoes danced over the broken glass beneath his feet, cutting his soles.

Aramis mumbled something Athos couldn't understand.  
The marksman still hadn't eaten anything since their arrival in this hell, the result was clearly written on the pale face. His cheekbones stood out and his arms and legs were nothing more than bones. His ribs would be seen weren't it for the thin linen shirt. Sometimes he was allowed to drink, but then only the poisened water. After his first experience with the drug, Aramis had refused the next time. But dying of thirst went faster than you would think, so his brothers had forced him to drink it the next time. It may hurt him and made him go insane, but it kept him alive. And that was all that counted now.

In all this time, Athos hadn't lost his faith in Treville and the Musketeers and was rewarded for it after what felt an entire lifetime.

The door flung open as the Musketeers stormed inside the cell. Sudden silence hung over the soldiers for a few men as they took in the horrifying scene infront oft hem, before their Captain ripped himself out oft he trance. „Let's get them home!"

The moment the chains around his wrists fell tot he floor, Athos jumped to his feet. Ignoring the dizzyness that overcame him immeiatly, the swordsman swayed toward d'Artagnan who was closest to him. The boy was also released from his chains but didn't make an attempt to stand upright. „Let me help." Athos muttered as two Musketeers, Thoma and Marc, carefully lifted the boy. „You can help once were out of this hell." Athos flinched as Treville placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, slowly guiding him out oft he cell. The swordsman's steps were slow and stumbling, but he managed the way up the stares and out of the house. „We have to help them." He muttered once they were outside and turned around just to go back inside again, back to his brothers.

„There are Musketeers down there helping them already. Wait here, they will come out any moment." Treville carefully guided the slightly confused soldier to the carriage they had brought with them. Athos sat down, his hands shook as he took in the open fields in front of him. „How long?"

„Fourteen days." Treville's eyes had just as much guilt in them as Athos', as he watched how the other three were carried out oft he house. Aramis' arms were slung around the shoulders of two men, his thin legs not able to carry him on their own. At least he had woken, eventhough the marksman not really noticed what was happening around him. He just stumble until his body was forced to lay down again in the carriage. Treville sighed, knowing that he was the one who had killed Lamage didn't satisfy him enough. He had seen his men in bad shapes before, but never like his.

Athos immediatly crawled towards Aramis, placing his shaking hands onto the cheeks of the marksman, who was just about to fall unconscious again. „Water. He needs water." Athos finally spoke, his voice rough as his thumb drawed cirrcles on the palce face beneath him. Treville gave him a skin, which Athos held against his brothers lips. Aramis drank greedily, not caring if poison was in it or not. As his thirst was satisfied fort he moment, he closed his eyes.

D'Artagnan was the next to arrive at the carriage, being layed beside Aramis, the boy moaned. There was nothing Athos could do for him here, so the Captain just kneeled behind him and lay the Gascon's head into his lap. „Rest, mon ami. It's over. Soon we're back in Paris and the lovely Constance will see to your wounds." He assured and caused the boy to smile slightly. „Const'nce." D'Artagnan muttered and took his brothers hand. Did we make it, 'Thos?" He then asked, clearly not really registering his surroundings as well. Athos nod, before he realised that the boy's vision was probably blurry. „We did it." He confirmed, before Porthos was layed down beside the Gascon.

It had been quite an act to get the big man out of the cell, as his cut soles didn't allow him to walk alone and he was quite heavy to carry. But in the end, the Musketeers somehow managed it.

Athos sighed in reliev as the carriage started to move towards home. He didn't took his eyes from his sleeping or unconscious brothers once, making sure they were save. „You didn't break," he smiled weekly, pushing a streak of hair from d'Artagnans bloody face. „None of you did." He paused for a moment, letting the fresh ari fill his lungs. „I'm sorry."

 **So this story is slowly coming to it's end...**

 **Thank you for all your lovely reviews!**


	5. Chapter 5

„Lemay should be already waiting for us. I've send for him the moment we knew where to find you. Didn't expect any of you being unharmed after all this time." Treville told Athos, who was still hovering over his brothers protectively. He wouldn't allow any further harm come to them. The swordsman nodded his thanks to his Captain, as he carefully examined Porthos' feet.

„You came just in time."

„I wish we woul've found you earlier." Admitted the Captain as he took in his best soldiers. He was confused how Athos came out of this so unharmed, beside a few bruises there were no injuries to be found on the swordsman. But Treville decided that this was a question for another day. Whatever had happened in this cell, his men will tell him when the time is right. For now, they needed to rest. Even Athos.

Thankfully, the ride to Paris wasn't that long. After a few hours they arrived in the Garrison – another reason why Treville felt guilty for not finding them earlier. They had been so close, but he had searched in the wrong direction first.

Fortunately, Lemay stood already in the courtyard, his bags and kits ready for use in the infirmary. While the three unconscious men were heaved onto stretchers, the medic examined each of them with concerned eyes, before he watched Athos stumble out oft he carriage. „Don't waste your time for me." The sowrdsman hissed before he hurried after his brothers, Lemay right on his heels.

The medic made a mental note to not to forget to check Athos for hidden injuries once he was ready with the others. „Can you tell me what happened to them?" The Doctor asked as he tried to make out who needed his help first.

„Aramis, was poisened. Don't know what it was. He hadn't eaten since we were taken, only drank a few sips of water." Athos tried to make it as short as possible as he knew the urgency oft he situation as he went over tot he next bed. „D'Artagnan was beaten several times. He said that his ribs were broken, don't know what else might be broken or bruised." Lemay nodded, already seeing the extend oft he injuries of the youngest musketeer, as blood covered the places on the body that weren't blue or green. „Porthos was drowned, he had coughed since thenquite often and harshly. And then there are his soles." He pointed at the bloody mess at the man's feet, where splinters of glass still stuck.

„I will see to d'Artagnan first. You can try to get Aramis to drink if he should wake up." Athos nod and walked over to the first bed, placing his hand on the marksman's shoulder. The man moaned slightly at the touch before his eyes fluttered open. „'Thos?" Aramis asked confused, as his vision started to clear slowly. „Wh're 're we?"

„In the Garrison. We're home." Athos purred some water into a glass, but as he turned back to his friend his eyes were closed again. „Hey 'Mis, you still with me?"

„Hmmm." Athos put one hand behind the marksman's head and lifted it slighty. „You need to drink something, do you understand?" He slowly lifted the glass tot he man's lips, but the moment it touched them, Aramis pushed it away roughly, causing the content to spill over the blanket. Athos sighed and put the glass aside. „It's just water, you need to drink."

„No," Aramis muttered and turned his head to the side. Athos just wanted to start arguing with him, as Lemay asked for his help.

„He's struggling. I need you to hold him down, while I stitch him."

D'Artagnan whimpered unconsciously and threw his head to the sides, as the medic tried to sew a nasty gap at his brow. Athos hurried over and held the boy's head in his hands and put a knee on his chest to keep him still. The boy whimpered again, as the needle stitched through his skin, but Athos' grip was tight. They had to do this several times on a variety of places, but after an hour d'Artagnan's wounds were cleaned, stitched and dressed. His body was nothing more than a mix of blue bruises and white bandages, his face barely recognicable as his nose was cracked and his eyes swollen shut.

„You will need to hold Porthos too." Lemay said as he cleaned his tools and then walked over to the big man.  
„We should wake him." Athos suggested, knowing how dangerous Porthos could bei f woken by suprise.  
„Porthos," The swordsman grabbed his arm carefully. „T'red." Was the answer oft he sleeping man. „You need to wake up, Porthos." Athos tried with a more commanding tone, which was quite effective. The big man opened his eyes with a groan, before he closed them again annoyed. „Let me sleep, Thos."

„You can sleep when we're ready. We need tot end to your feet. Dr. Lemay is also with me, we're back in the garrison." Athos explained as he noticed that Porthos didn't really understand what was going on. The man's eyes opened again and took in their surroundings for the first time.

„Please don't kick us or I need to punch you." Athos grabbed his friends legs nevertheless and held them down tightly as Lemay started to clean the soles. Porthos hissed and tried to get free, but Athos grip was tight. „Stop that." The big man muttered annoyed, still a bit confused why they would hurt him that much. „Hurts."

„I know." Athos sighed and Lemay started to pull out the fragmants of glass, causing blood to run down the soles.

„We need to stitch them or you will catch an infection." Athos explained calmly as the medic got out needle and thread. „Hate stitches." Porthos muttered and closed his eyes again. He was so tired.

As the needle was pushed into his skin, Porthos kicked out but thanks to Athos tight grip he didn't catch any of them. „Porthos keep still!" Athos hissed and leaned more onto the mans legs. Lemay now worked less neatly, therefore faster. As they were ready, Porthos was out again.

The medic tossed his tools aside after he had dressed the soles of Porthos' and walked over to Aramis. „You said he was poisoned. Can you say what happened to him when he took the poison?"

Athos sat down a chair between the marksman's and d'Artagnan's beds, sighing. „He screamed, said that his skin burned. But we couldn't see anything. I don't know for sure if the pain was real or just some kind of hallucination." 

Lemay nod as he checked the temperature of the man in the bed. „He's got a light fever. It could be from the poison, but I can't tell for sure. I've never heard from a substance that could cause such pain, I can only guess that it was some kind of hallucinogen. How often did he take it?"

„I'm not sure. Eight times maybe?" „It could happen that his body will long for more… But there I can't be certain, too. We will just have to wait and watch. He certainly needs to get something into him. Water and broth fort he start, his stomach won't tolerate much more. But should his fever get worse he will need the strength."

Athos nod, adding everything the doctor said to his To-Do List. „They should be fine for now. Call for me if something changes." Lemay said, before he left Athos with his three brothers alone.


	6. Chapter 6

„'Thos" The swordsman turned away from the unmoving body of their youngest, as Porthos called for him. His legs arched as he stood up to walk over to the tall musketeer, who seemed more alert now than the last time he had woken up.

„I'm here." Athos assured as he placed a comforting hand on the big mans shoulder. Porthos smiled slightly, before a frown took over his face. „How are the others?" He tried to look past his friend and Athos steppedd aside to not block his view. „Bruised and exhausted, but they will heal." Porthos nodded, believing the words of his friend without question. Athos wouldn't lie to him.

„When can I get out of this bed?" He then asked as he tried to sit up. Wrapping his arms around Porthos' torso, Athos helped him lean against the wall. „Your soles are quiete bad, needed a few stitches." Porthos nod as he remembered the last time he had woken up and the pain in his feet. „I fear you will have to stay in this bed till they're properly healed."

The big man sighed, knowing that Athos probably was right but he felt good according tot he circumstances.

„Do you think you can stomach some broth?" The swordsman then asked and, without waiting for an answer, walked over to a table by the door where four bowls stood. „I can try. Did you eat something yet?" Athos shook is head as he palced the still hot bowl in his brothers hands and handed him a spoon.

„You need to." Porthos scolded before he started eating. „I'm fine." Athos sat down on a chair by his friends bed and watched him eat. His stomach twisted at the scent and alone the thought of eating made him want to vomit, but he tried to not show his discomfort to his already worried brother.

„You're not, don't lie to me. None of us is fine after all of this." Porthos stared into the blue eyes of his friend with an intesity that the man feared that Porthos could see right into his soul. „I wasn't tortured." And this simple fact, mixed with the guilt that lingered in his eyes, the way he looked away, was enough for Porthos to finally understand.

„You're feeling guilty, because he didn't torture you but us? Athos don't you see that this was the worst kind of torture Lamage could have thought of for a musketeer. We're finally free, don't let him win now, not after we made it out of this hell."

„I know what his intentions were. Still, I watched you suffer and didn't help. You all will be bound to the bed for several days, maybe weeks and I came out of all of this unscathed."

„You COULDN'T help Athos! There was no way you could have stopped any of this, you were just aas helpless as we were! Stop feeling guilty for something you're not responsible for. Don't let him win, not now, not after all of this." 

The swordsman sighed but then nodded in agreement. Porthos was right. He couldn't let Lamage win, not after he was dead and they still lived. Not after his three friends had suffered so much.

„You're right mon ami." „Ain't I'm always?" Porthos laughed as he put the empty bowl aside and then laid back down with a grown.

„Not even half of the time." Both pairs of eyes landed on d'Artagnan in surprise, who had managed to open one of his swollen eyes.

„You're awake." Athos said, relief filled him as he walked over to the next bed. Dry lips formed a weak attempt of a smile, which caused half-healed wounds to open and blood flow from the Gascon's lips. The swordsman winced in sympathy as he carefully wiped the blood away and then held a glass of water to the man's lips. D'Artangan gulped down the content thankfully.

„Constance?" He then asked and tried to turn his head to look out for her, but the pain this caused in his head made him feel dizzy. „She's fine, at home. She doesn't know what had happened, not yet. We wanted you to wake up first."

D'Artagnan nodded, he didn't want her to worry. The movement caused him once again to wince in agony and close his eye again. „That's right, rest a little bit longer." He felt a cold cloth being laid onto his brow that eases his pain and let him realx immediatly. He was asleep only a few moments later.

„What are his injuries?" Porthos then asked quietly, careful to not disturb the sleep his brother needed so much.

Athos sighed at the long list that came to his min das he once again turned to his brother. „Broken ribs, a lot of bruises and swellings, sprained jaw…" „Nothing that doesn't heal." But in Porthos voice felt the confidence his statement would have needed, as he was just as worried as Athos fort he young man.

A moan from the other side oft he room disturbed their conversation, as Aramis trashed around in his restless sleep. „Nightmares?" Porthos asked and Athos nodded as he hurried over to the last bed. „Lemay said it could be a consequence of the poison he took, his body could already long for more." He placed a hand on the marksman shoulders, which was pushed away immediatly. Aramis whimpered as he turned his head from one side to the other. 

„What can we do for him?" Porthos asked and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The strict gaze of Athos made him stop in his movements jsut ebfore his feet touched the ground. „Don't you dare to leave this bed. There's not much we can do to help him but to be there for him." He carefully swiped some sweat from the marksman's brow, this time the contact wasn't denied. Instead Aramis seemed to search for some kind of comfort as he leaned into the gentle touch. Athos let the cloth lay on the brow as his hand took the one of his friend. He squeezed it slightly as the man in the bed seemed to calm down slowly.

„He's so thin." Porthos noticed in shock, as he stretched to see his friend. Athos nod, worry shining in his eyes, which were fixed on the irritated body in front of him. „I'm trying to get him to eat and drink but he didn't obey yet. I think he still is confused and believes there is some more of the poison in there." He let out a joyless laugh. „Now he doesn't want to drink because he fears the poison but if Lemay was right, he will crave it in some time and beg us to give it to him. Isn't that ironic?"

Porthos didn't answer as he stared at his distressed brother.

„I wish Treville hadn't killed Lamage. I would love to do it myself." 

Athos nod, knowing too well how Porthos felt.


	7. Chapter 7

As he woke up, he first felt nothing but numbness until a throbbing pain started to form in his head. He wanted to escape it as it clouded his senses, but he felt as he had slept for ages and his body was no longer longing for rest. A low moan escaped his bloodied lips as the pounding got harder and he started to feel more and more of his body. He wished for the numbness to return as his ribs screamed with each breath he took, his jaw arched as he opened his lips just to close them again as he noticed how dry his throat was. It seemed as every muscle was on fire and his limbs were far too heavy for him to lift them. His eyelids didn't feel any lighter, but as he knew that sleep wouldn't return as long as he was in so much pain, he at least wanted to see.

As he gathered his strength and let his eyes flutter open, he was glad to not be blinded by the sun but greeted with the dull light of a lonely candle standing by his bed. He hadn't noticed it yet as his heavy eyes tried to focus on something.

The first thing he saw was the celining, made out wood and mud. His breath hitched as he suddenly felt unsafe, but not quite remembering why. In his still muddled thoughts he also couldn't make out why everything hurt so much.

D'Artagnan frowned and carefully turned his head to the side, just to be punished with a sharp pain rushing through his head. He winced but forced himself to focus on his surroundings once again. The room seemed familiar and as he saw Porthos sleeping in a bed beside him, he recognized it at the infirmary. He was home.

As the feeling of safety slowly came back to him, he suddenly remembered why he was in so much pain. The cellar, Lamage, Porthos being drowned, Aramis desperate cries. And Athos… Athos watching, Athos being helpless, feeling guilty.

He didn't quite remember how they got out of it, but he decided as long as all where alive the answer to this question could wait. But… where all alive?

Slowly, he turned his head again and he found Aramis lying in another bed to his other side. The man seemed distressed as sweat ran down his face. D'Artagnan wanted to help him, soothe him, but not only missed he the strength to stand up but the concern for Athos rose as he couldn't see him at first try.

Despite the headache that seemed to get worse with each minute, the Gascon forced himself to sit up. But as strength left him he leaned against the wall behind him in an odd angle, not really laying but not really sitting either. This action had been enough to leave him breathless, but it was worth the effort as he finally found the swordsman slumped in a chair by the door. He had his eyes closed and seemed to be asleep, and for a short moment d'Artagnan thought about leaving him be – but as he once again felt his dry mouth and didn't find any water close enough to him, he decided that there was no other way than to wake the man.

His voice was rough as he spoke and didn't sound as his own, it burned in his throat and blood started to trickle down his bruised lips.

"Athos."

 _"Athos, you really should rethink this!"'_

 _"What is there to rethink? It's the shortest way back to Paris and Treville mentioned how important it was to not be delayed. Moreover there will be a village on our way and we won't have to sleep outside."_

 _"It's too dangerous, 'Thos. You know the rumors that go around – a group of soldiers went missing here, traders never came back out of it." Porthos shuddered at the thought as he looked at the trees in front of them._

 _"You can't be serious, Athos! In there are a hundred possibilities to attack us without us noticing! Let's just ride around it, just to be safe." Aramis never liked forest after Savoy, but this time was different. He was used to feeling unsafe in forests, but this one was truly unsafe and not in his mind but in reality. Already from where they stood on the open fields, he was able to see the slopes that formed a narrow path on the bottom. They would have to ride behind each other and possible bandits could wait up on the hills._

 _"Avoiding the forest would mean a delay of at least two days. And since when are we scared of bandits?" He pushed the map back inside his bag, as he had already made up his mind and kicked his horse slightly._

 _"And since when are you the one of us, making stupid decisions? Thought that was Aramis." D'Artagnan grinned at the marksman who pouted joking, but Athos didn't turn around._

 _The rode after him nevertheless._

 _It may have been one hour as Aramis tenseness got worse. He heard rustling as birds flew out of their nests. He felt eyes staring at his back, but as he turned around there was only Porthos smiling at him gently. The tall man knew about the uneasiness Aramis felt when they were in forests and tried to sooth him._

 _"Only birds, 'Mis. Nothing special."_

 _The marksman nod and turned around once again, but the feeling of being watched didn't leave him._

"Athos."

 _"Athos. Something's wrong." Aramis had his hand already on the butt of his pistol as he hissed the words and looked up the slopes._

 _There was some more rustling, some more birds and then the sound of metal._

 _The Musketeers drew their weapons just in time as at least seven men ran down the slopes, swords and muskets raised._

 _Athos, who had brought down one of the attackers, turned around to block a otherwise deathly stroke, just to see d'Artagnan being struck down by the hilt of a sword. Nearly in the same moment Porthos was disarmed and found two blades at his throat that forced him to stay leaned against a tree._

 _Aramis looked at his two brothers, ready to kill his opponent, but as he a pistol was aimed at Athos, he laid down his sword in surrender. The marksman was roughly pushed to his knees, a gun now pressed painfully hard against his temple as the bandits bound his wrists together._

 _Not able to do anything other than to surrender, if he didn't want to risk the lifes of his brothers, Athos also kneeled down on the muddy ground._

 _"ATHOS!"_

The man was pulled out of his sleep roughly, gasping for air as the memories floated his mind. It hadn't been exactly like this, there hadn't been any dangerous rumors about the forest and his brothers never had argued with him. They all had decided to take this path, but in his muddled and tired mind, the dream felt so much like a real memory. Athos needed a few moments to calm down, before a familiar voice called his name once again.

"Athos." D'Artagnan looked at the swordsman with concern, as the man was clearly still shocked from his nightmare. "It was only a dream." The Gascon assured tiredly as Athos walked over to him, the tenseness leaving his face. "How are you feeling, whelp?"

"As if a horse had run me over." D'Artagnan laughed but it ended more in a painful moan as his broken ribs were startled. "No laughing, no moving." Athos poured some water into a glass and held it to the bloody lips of his brother.


	8. Chapter 8

A moan from one of the others bed, caused Athos to jump up and d'Artagnan to glance over to Aramis, who finally had stopped tossing and opened his eyes.

"Hey 'Mis," Athos greeted him gently as he kneeled beside the bed to look his brother in the eyes. They were glassy as sweat dripped down his forehead. Aramis moaned again and blinked as he tried to focus his view. "Th'rsty." He then mumbled, just to find a glass full of water against his lips barely a second later.

To Athos relief he gulped down the contents completely, before he closed his eyes again for a moment. "We're not in the cellar anymore." He noticed and Athos was thankful that the man seemed conscious enough to know where they were. "Yes, we're safe now." He assured and filled the glass again with water. "Do you think you can drink somemore?" 

Aramis frowned but nodded and took a few more sips. "Do you want to eat something?" The hope lingered in his voice, even d'Artagnan who watched the scenen intensely heard it. But Aramis seemed oblivious to it as he shook his head. "Not hungry." He murmured and squeezed his eyes shut as a sharp pain shot through his head. Athos sighed, the man needed to finally eat something.

"At least a little bit of broth?" The swordsman already had the bowl in his hands, the smell made his own stomach grumble. As Aramis smelled the scent of chicken and salt he turned his head away. "No." He winced as vomit rised in his throat and tried not to lose control over his body. Athos put the bowl aside fastly. "Okay. It's okay." He assured and pulled the blanket over his brother's chest.

"Is there anything else you need? How are ou even feeling?" He asked concerned as Aramis had regained his senses and turned his back towards his friend. "Cold…. No… hot." Athos hadn't missed the sweat on his brothers brow and as his hand met his skin he hissed at the hotness of it.

"Try to rest, I will get Lemay." What worried the swordsman most was how easy Aramis agreed and closed his eyes. All the usual stubbornness was gone as his weakened body and mind longed for rest.

"Can I leave you with him for a moment?" Athos turned to d'Artagnan who smiled at him slighty. A glance towards Aramis told him that the marksman was already back at sleep, so he nod. "We will be just fine." Athos didn't really believe his brother's words, but he needed to get Lemay, so he hurried out of the infirmary.

MMMM

Minutes after Athos leave, d'Artagnan decided to close is eyes for a moment too. Eventhough he had slept for quite some time he already felt exhausted again. He knew that this was a normal reaction to such injuries, but he was annoyed at the weakness of his body.

However, sleep was him denied as Aramis started to whimper and toss in his sleep. Incohrent words left his lips, not fully reaching the Gascon's ears as he tried to make out what he was saying.

D'Artagnan watched his brother with concern for a few more minutes until the tossing got worse and he feared that the marksman would hurt himself, as his head got dangerous close to the nightstand. With a hiss of pain he sat up, a burning sensation spread through his ribs and to his lungs as he was finally upright. The Gascon needed a few moments to regain his senses and to stop the dizziness that overcame him. His naked feet touched the ground and he slowly put weight on his trembling legs, causing his head to pound even hard. Somehow, he had managed to stand up completely. His headache was now the only thing he seemed to notice, over the pounding in his head he didn't even hear Aramis whimerps.

 _Concentration, d'Artagnan._ He held his breath as he took a trembling step forward, his hand searching for support on the wall.

"What are you think you're doing?!" The voice reached him even through the throbbing pain in his head, but d'Artagnan felt the strength to turn around. He only stopped in his tracks and leaned heavier against the wall, his breath as fast as if he had run a marathon. 

"Aramis." Was everything he managed and enough to make Porthos to understand. "You're a fool, you should stay in bed." The tall man muttered and looked around the room helplessly. The whelp seemed as he would break down any moment and Aramis clearly needed help too. He sighed as his eyes fell on his cutted soles.

"Wait a moment."

"U-huh" The Gascon muttered and closed his eyes against the pain, but it didn't bring any comfort.

Porthos cursed under his breath as he put his feet onto the ground, feeling the stitches on their edge as he put weight on them. Trying to avoid the worst of the wounds, he walked strangely on the sides of his feet and tried to support his weight on the wall and beds as much as possible. Each step spread a burning pain through his feet and up into his trembling legs, but somehow he made it to the other side of the room.

"Come here, whelp." He carefully grabbed d'Artagnan's arm and lead him towards Aramis' bed, where the lad sat down on the edge with a sigh. "Thank you." He murmured.

Porthos smiled weakly, before he turned his attention towards Aramis. "Hey 'mis, do you hear me? It's me, Porthos. You're safe." He repeated the words, as the marksman didn't react and carefully put a pillow beside the nightstand and the head of the marksman. "Don't want you to get hurt." He murmured and sat down beside d'Artagnan, who had taken one of his brothers hands in his own.

"Do you hear me, Aramis? You're safe, in the Garrison. Everything's just fine." Porthos stroke through his friends hair, but was only answered with another whimper and a weak attempt of the sleeping man to be pushed away.

"Stop…. Leave them… Para!... Déjalos en paz." ( _Stop! Leave them alone.)_

„Aramis." D'Artagan squeezed the hand a little bit tighter to make himself known, but in his state, Aramis didn't recognize the familiar voice and comforting gesture. He ripped his hand free of the grasp and hit the closest object he could reach. Porthos cursed at the stroke in his stomach. "Since when are you so strong?" He muttered before he tried again to calm the tossing man.

"Aramis!" Porthos grabbed the mans shoulders and shook him, causing his eyes to fly open. Glassy eyes stared at the tall man for a moment, before thin arms pushed him from the edge of the bed and onto the ground. As Porthos hit the ground with a thud and Aramis didn't seem to wake from his uncoherent state, but only reached forward to now attack the Gascon, d'Artagan had no other choice than to catch the arms of his brother and push them against the bed.

"Aramis!" He shouted as the man struggled against his grip, sweat made his hot skin wet. Porthos had stood up again, ignoring the pain in his feet, as he helped the Gascon to hold down their brother. "He won't calm down." D'Artagnan frowned and tightened his grip. He felt his strength leave him with every second he had to hold down his own brother, and it bruned in his chest as he saw Aramis struggle against his grip.

"Where the hell is Athos?" Porthos cursed as he put more of his weight on Aramis' legs to keep them from kicking him. "He's getting Lemay, he left only minutes ago and will need some more time until he's back." Porthos noticed the exhaustion in the boy's voice and saw the sweat in his red face. "You need to rest." He said between gritted teeth after Aramis had managed to kick him in the gut. "We can't hold him forever." 

"Get some…rope." D'Artagnan said between ragged breaths as his muscles started to tremble. Porthos shot him an uncertain look before he let go of the kicking legs and hurried over to the closet. After searching for a few seconds he found what he had searched for and came back to the bed.

He first bound Aramis' legs together before he took one of the arms and bound them to the bed before he did the same with the other one. As d'Artagnan could finally let go, he almost collapsed weren't it for Porthos who put an arm around his shoulder. "Easy." He murmured and guided – half carried – the lad back to his bed.

Before his eyes fell closed in exhaustion and pain, d'Artagnan looked over to his still struggling brother one more time and it shattered his heart to see him like this. He wished they never had to do this, and he felt as if he had betrayed his brother by tieing him up.

"He will be fine." Porthos assured him, before the Gascon lost his fight with unconsciousness. The tall man put some fabric between the ropes and Aramis' skin so he wouldn't hurt himself with all the trashing. "You're safe." He repeated as he sat down with his tied up brother and waited for Athos to return.


	9. Chapter 9

**Happy new year!  
I know it had been some time since I've updated here, but the past two months had been quite busy and exhausting, so there was no time for writing… Moreover it seems that I have a writer's block in almost every story.. help! **

**So here's a very short, not exciting chapter. Shame on me.**

* * *

"What happened?" Athos stopped as he took in the scene in front of him, while Lemay waited in the door. Aramis whimpered and tossed his head from one side to the other as he tried to free his hands from ropes around the wrists. Porthos sat with him, bloody footprints showed that he had walked to d'Artagnan's bed sometime. He whispered comforting words to the marksman, but they weren't heard. Their youngest member was oblivious to all of this as he lay in his bed unconscious.

"He would've hurt us or himself. And we weren't it enough to hold him down without them." Porthos admitted in shame, but he couldn't ignore the arch in his muscles and the tiredness that always lingered in his body. Athos nodded, understanding the desperation the two must have had felt.

"I shouldn't have left you alone." Athos made three large steps and reached his two brothers, Lemay followed him instantly, already taking in the condition Aramis was in. "He's feverish, confused. It's his body longing for more of this poison, there is not much I can do. I would give him something to sleep, but I fear that the herbs could have some critical reaction with the poison that's still left in his blood." Lemay put some wet clothes on the marksman's brow sighing. "I'm sorry. But he soon will be too exhausted to keep on fighting. Did he drink or eat anything yet?"

"Some water, nothing else "Keep trying, he needs strength for the withdrawal of the poison."

"And what if he vomits?" Athos remembered how Aramis had paled at the mention of food. "Try nevertheless. There's nothing he can loose."

Athos nod and took his worried glance from Aramis to Porthos, who still sat by his brothers side.

"You've ripped your stitches." Offering an arm for support, Athos helped the tall man up and towards his own bed – they left small spots of blood all over the floor on their way. "We will stitch them in a moment. What's up with d'Artagnan?"

Porthos growled at the imagination of having to endure further stitches, but he knew that there was no way that Athos would leave him like this. "Exhaustion and pain, I guess. He helped me with 'Mis, fell unconscious the moment he was restrained."

Lemay walked from Aramis to d'Artagnan as he took in his condition too. "He really should rest. Don't let him leave his bed for at least the next three days. Fortunately he hasn't ripped anything open, but the movements must have been quite painful."


End file.
